


See You On The Rift

by SolarPoweredFlashlight



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarPoweredFlashlight/pseuds/SolarPoweredFlashlight
Summary: The first time Vi clashes with Sejuani on Summoner's Rift, she discovers that the brawny, silver-haired northerner is more than worthy of her respect. They grab a couple of drinks together, and Vi decides to show Sejuani just how much she respects her.





	See You On The Rift

“YAHHHHHHH!” Vi screams, her hextech fist connecting with the wolf mid-lunge. It doesn’t yelp or whine or make any sound other than the meaty thud of the hit landing. The corpse can’t evaporate away fast enough for Vi’s liking; she still isn’t sure if these are supposedly imaginary constructs like the little minions or if they’re real animals being summoned over and over, trapped in the same endless loop of violence, not-death, violence, not-death that she and all the other League champions are.

Silver fur prowls in the corner of her vision, forming another animal shape – she could have sworn that was the last of the wolves. Is she losing it? This match feels like it’s dragged on a lifetime.

Vi has time to think ‘Aw, shit. That’s not a wolf,’ before she takes a step back to stabilize herself, throws up an arm, and absorbs the shudder of the flail’s strike with one gauntlet.

Then the damned boar is on her, and one of the tusks gets under her guard and catches the edge of the gauntlet. All it takes is one wrench of that big hairy head and Vi is thrown bodily across the forest floor. She rolls, but it’s hard to roll with her gauntlets, and the landing is painful in the muted way that all League match pain is.

“Next time take a dip in the river first,” Vi quips, throwing up another arm and swatting away the flail with a hextech crunch that makes her wince, “so I can’t smell you coming.” She tries to scramble to her feet, but she’s caught off guard by how fast and brutal her opponent is and takes a flail strike directly to the face.

Even with the dulling of sensation and the fact that this isn’t really real, only kind of real, the crushing impact of cold jagged metal collapsing her skull like a purposeful finger through a spiderweb was not something she ever wanted to experience.

Blue light, and she’s back on the platform feeling woozy.

She’s going to not think too hard about that death if she wants to keep herself from repainting these stone steps with puke. The Sherriff probably wouldn’t appreciate slipping in vomit the next time she comes back to base.

Vi rallies her strength, touches her head once, finds it whole, and then charges back out into battle.

Okay. Lesson learned. Do not underestimate the Freljord warrior on the boar.

—

The clone is down. That LeBlanc is for sure the real one. She’s bleeding and limping slightly but she’s stupid enough to keep pushing towards the turret. To be fair, it’s in bad shape too. There’s a huge chunk missing out of its base and the statue’s face is scarred by magical blasts. A tempting target.

Vi smirks.

Baited, bitch.

She launches out of the brush and swings ferociously at the battered sorceress. Vi isn’t dismayed when there’s a burst of light and her knuckles meet air; she pivots hard and throws herself into the pursuit, face set into a determined scowl. “C’mere, you slippery little asshole,” she growls at the Noxian. Inside the gauntlets, her fingers move to manipulate subtle switches; mechanisms whir to life and begin charging.

This time she hears the boar before she sees it, great monstrous feet splashing up a muddy bank. Then it bellows its way out of the far foliage, the vicious set of its piggy eyes locked on her. She backs up, keeping her face to the rider, and forgets about the sorceress who has long since disappeared to safety.

Something comes flying at her and instinctively she ducks – but it goes low, not high, and the bolas wrap around her ankles, tripping her up.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mutters, only barely managing to stay upright. Vi wriggles one foot loose and then the beast is right up in her face and she does what she always does when her brain turns off and her muscles take over: she swings the hardest fucking punch she possibly can at the Not Good thing coming towards her.

Something snaps and her stomach gives another lurch when she realizes it’s one of those big tusks. This animal can’t possibly understand what the League is, can’t know that the damage will be repaired – or didn’t actually happen – or something, hell, Vi hardly understands what the League is. But she understands a brawl, and she understands fighting for her life, and so she doesn’t hesitate to swing her back hand immediately when the first one hits.

The second strike is knocked away from the boar’s shattered, muddied face by the crack of that damned flail, and Vi’s arm is nearly ripped out of the shoulder socket by the force of it.

She scrambles backwards even as the Freljord woman starts to swing the weapon again, gathering up speed. She’s learned the hard way to respect its range, and she turns and makes a break for the poor bedraggled turret that she’s not entirely sure will be able to do much to protect her.

That’s when the boar rider starts laughing. It’s a hearty, distinctively northern laugh, and even though there’s victory and bloodlust in it, Vi isn’t chilled by it so much as inclined to turn back around and accept the challenge with a cocky grin.

“Do we smell any better now? No worse than the stink of your fear, surely!” she barks from somewhere behind Vi.

The enforcer reaches the turret and turns back. The rider is watching, smirking, calmly swinging her weapon in steady circles over her head. Shit, it’s actually kind of hot.

“Come on then,” Vi shouts back, kicking the bola from her ankle finally, tossing it between them. She cracks her giant, mechanical knuckles. One of the fingers isn’t flexing right after the most recent clash. “If you’re so tough, come get me. Let’s do this thing.” She struts around within the range of the tower’s defenses. “Tell you what? I’ll even buy you a beer if you can get me before my friend here puts a beam of magic through your chest.”

“A poor reward for an easy wager,” she laughs. Then her expression becomes ice. Vi sees her muscles tense and does the same, preparing herself. Tiny, battle-hungry minions suddenly surge around the silver beast’s sides, firing blasts of magic. That’s apparently all the northerner was waiting for; she digs in her heels and the shaggy animal lumbers forward, picks up speed, gallops, charges, and throws itself right at Vi. She dances away to the side in a burst of light then twists and strikes. The uppercut clangs a dozen harsh notes of metal on metal and the heavy armor absorbs much of the blow but does nothing to stop the rider from being thrown from her mount.

The elegantly carved staff of the imposing statue glows to life, radiating magical energy, and then fires its initial burst. The impact of the magic sears a purple-red heat through steel plate, crisping and burning the edges of fur. Still, she somehow gets to her feet and raises the flail.

Vi takes a mildly startled step back, but then sneers and charges forward. If she can just get a solid punch in before the swing of the weapon gets going, maybe the turret will finish the job. Maybe not, though. This beast of the Freljord is clearly made of tougher stuff than a lot of the other so-called champions.

They both charge and meet in the middle – a punch is but a jolt that makes her step back, and then she brings her arms around, holding the chain by a shorter length, and lands a hit to Vi’s leg that definitely breaks bone. The turret’s staff lights up again and another pulse of magic blasts into the boar rider. Vi staggers backward, wincing at the pain in her leg and pressing one gauntlet against the tower for support.

If Vi can just get her to take a couple more of those shots, she can emerge from this scuffle the winner. But with her leg a useless mess there’s not much to do but –

The swing of the weapon is so fast she doesn’t have the time to react. She’s not making any sudden moves with her tibia in fifty crunchy little pieces, anyways. The impact is in her rib cage this time, and it slams her up against the tower in a spike of agony. Her vision goes blue but she lasts just long enough to see the final magical blast send the northerner to her knees.

Back at the platform again.

Stupid flail.

Still. Vi is grinning. Her heart is galloping.

“Hey, Ionia,” Vi shouts at the magic-wielding diplomat just leaving their base. The woman looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the name of that boar riding chick?”

“Sejuani, of the Freljord. Would you like my name as well, perhaps, Vi?” Her rebuke is soft and delivered with an amused tone.

“Nah,” Vi says, jogging off in the other direction, “I’d just forget it again. I hear that’s bad karma.” She throws a wink and a grin in the woman’s direction, and rather likes the way the Ionian chuckles in reply. Her gaydar pings. Vi makes a mental note to offer to buy her a drink some time, too.

For now, she’s got a northern woman who smells like barnyard and early frost on her mind.

—

When the match finally ends and Vi trudges the halls from the champion lobby and prep rooms down to the portals that will take her home, she’s bone-weary and ready for a nap. Caitlyn went back before any of the other champions, fixated on a case and determined to return to the hunt, so Vi is alone.

Or she was.

A strong hand claps her on the back between her shoulder blades and she nearly pisses herself.

“I believe you owe me a beer.”

Sejuani of the Freljord is smirking at her, and Vi’s startled reaction seems to please her even more than the debt she’s looking to get settled.

“I dunno, I’m pretty sure that tower fried you,” Vi drawls, settling into a comfortable, cheeky grin and standing a little taller. “But I’ll pick up the first round just to be friendly. Wouldn’t want to be a sore winner.”

“Your team may have won, but _I_ was not one of the weaklings on the rift today,”

Vi quirks an eyebrow at Sejuani and holds her gaze for a moment before uttering a little chortle. “I’ll drink to that.”

—

They pick a place in the slummier side of Piltover, where the company is rougher and the beer is chewier and the music is better. They even manage to find one with a stable big enough for the boar. Vi stops at her apartment to change and to leave behind the gauntlets, and Sejuani rents a room above the tavern that Vi assures her is trustworthy if not glamorous. She ventures that Sejuani doesn’t put much priority on glitter and glitz anyways – the warrior woman approves of this interpretation of her taste.

Vi finds them a table in the corner and orders them a pair of pints while her new acquaintance goes upstairs to check out her room and probably put away her armor and weaponry.

The cold, flavorful brew in Vi’s mug is half gone when the northerner tromps back down the stairs looking at home in a ratty old tunic and pair of pants made of some kind of animal hide. She looks a lot less jagged and icy without the armor, especially the helmet, but she’s no less imposing or impressive. Vi gestures wordlessly to the beer waiting for her, and Sejuani slides into the seat, wraps her hand around the mug, leans back, and chugs her way to the halfway mark.

She sets the drink back down on the table, licks her lips, and locks eyes with Vi.

“Not bad for your southern seawater piss.”

Vi smirks. God, there’s just something about blue eyes in a strong face.

“Not the frosty cold reindeer piss I imagine you’re used to.”

They’re both grinning; there’s an unspoken respect between them that took crushed skulls and snapped tusks to earn.

“Maybe you’ll share more than one round with me,” Vi says, forward, confident, happy in this dive bar with this interesting woman, but secure enough with the possibility of rejection that she isn’t terribly afraid of it.

Sejuani makes a face, peers at the bottom of her mug, drains it, and sets it on the table.

“I’m going to have to – you did say you’d buy me a drink and I think it’ll take about three of these to qualify as alcohol.”

“Let’s make it four, just to be safe,” Vi laughs, leaning back happily in her chair and waving at the barkeep.

“Deal,” Sejuani says, setting her elbow down on the table between them, extending her hand.

Without hesitation Vi clasps palms with the woman; their grips match in strength and their smirks meet above two equally muscular arms, one richly inked and the other pale from never seeing the sun.

The barkeep can be forgiven for staring.

“Can we get two more? Actually, just bring us a pitcher,” Vi says, to save him from his suffering.

As he wanders away, Vi and Sejuani stretch nearly simultaneously, splaying into their seats.

“So you ever spend much time in Piltover?”

“I don’t, no. Not much reason to.”

“Eh, not like I’ve ever been to the Freljord before, so I can’t exactly judge.” She gulps back another mouthful of her beer.

“Not quite so many fireplaces and fluffy mattresses as there are here,” Sejuani chortles.

“A shame,” Vi shoots back, “You bring your girlfriends back home to bed-shaped blocks of ice? Or just roll around in the snow?”

“Hah!” Sejuani snorts, plucking the pitcher right out of the incoming barkeep’s hands and pouring herself a refill. “What makes you so sure it’d be girlfriends?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just a feelin’. Not wrong, am I?” Vi empties her mug – nothing like a drink after an exhausting match – and reaches for the pitcher when Sejuani is done with it.

“You’ve no shame, have you Vi?” is the answer, skirting around the question. She does a good job of distracting her by using her name, though, and the low purr she says it in is probably not intentional but one hundred percent effective.

“Absolutely not,” she mutters with a grin, draping an arm over the back of her chair and looking around the establishment. At the bar, a man and a woman are giggling together. “What about her?”

“What about her?” Sejuani asks, taking a gulp of beer. “She’s with a man.”

“Not the point,” chastises Vi. “You think she’s attractive, is what I’m asking.”

The northern warrior eyeballs the woman at the bar while drawing long pulls from her mug. After the fourth mouthful, she swallows and says, “Nah.”

“You sure looked long enough, though,” teases the Piltover native.

“Nice enough to look at, sure,” Sejuani confesses, and maybe that has to do with how quickly they’re downing these beers without any food in their stomachs, “but nothing to stir much fire in the belly. She looks like she’d struggle to lift an armful of kindling.”

“Were you planning on having her lift you as part of your courtship? That how they do things in the Freljord?”

“Might be,” she says, cool, cryptic, smirking.

Vi likes it.

Conversation turns to other things; scrounging for materials, forging with mixed metals and poor resources, the basics of hextech, a brief foray into Freljord politics 101, a long discussion about wrestling tactics versus boxing tactics in close combat situations, and then finally, about three pitchers of beer into the evening, back to women.

“So tell me what it’s like to take a proper Freljord woman to bed,” Vi says, leaning forward with a conspiratorial little smile.

Sejuani flushes and throws her gaze somewhere beyond Vi’s shoulder. “There are others who’d better answer that question.”

“You’re not – are you saying you’ve never - ?” Vi’s jaw drops.

“I’m no maiden,” Sejuani corrects, with a snort, but her pride deflates a little when she casually adds, “but it’s been a while.”

“Gotta say, I’m surprised,” Vi says pointedly. She raises a mug and raises her eyebrows and makes eye contact. “You’re pretty damn good lookin’, you know.”

Sejuani exhales hard through her nose, a sound of disbelief. “I’m the leader of my people. I have more important things to do.”

“Even kings and queens gotta find time to get laid now and then,” Vi smirks. “How long are we talkin’, exactly? Months? Years?”

“Years,” Sejuani says, her tone daring Vi to mock her, but her relaxed body language suggesting she doesn’t expect her to. Her eyes wander over to something behind Vi again.

“Shit, I don’t think I’d be capable of going years. Don’t you miss it? The feeling of skin on skin, the fucking _sounds_ women make, man.” Vi turns to see what Sej is looking at; it’s a woman who’s wandered in while they were talking. A pretty one, but one that strikes Vi as very much straight. “Those shadows on their throats,” she murmurs, low, hungry, drunk. “The softness of their skin, the feeling of a hip bone held tight in your hand,”

They turn and make eye contact and, fuck, this is a new expression on Sejuani that Vi hasn’t seen yet tonight.

“If I didn’t miss it before you’re making me miss it now,” she murmurs with quiet intensity.

Vi finds she’s stroking her own thumb up and down the wrist of the hand holding her beer, unconsciously stirring her own passions with the tiny touch. Even when she notices she’s doing it, she doesn’t stop. “There’s just something about a pretty woman,” she says, riding high on the buzz of the alcohol. “Confident, clever, assertive. The angles in her face, the curves in her body.” Her mind meanders to long dark hair and firm, nimble fingers.

“It’s the way they touch you,” Sejuani adds, far from sober herself and apparently less inhibited than a few hours ago. “A soft hand on your face, in your hair.”

“Fuck, yes, those stupid soft hands that are just so gentle but so strong,” Vi enthuses.

“Commanding,” Sejuani contributes, “taking what they want, giving you what they know you want. And their mouths,”

“Fuck, their _mouths_.”

“You can’t know, you southerners, the first time you discover the heat of a woman’s mouth when your life’s been nothing but the cold of the Freljord. Forget the sun, forget fire, forget the thickest furs and the most insulated tents. There is no heat like that heat.”

“It sounds incredible,” Vi breathes, trying to imagine.

“Gods, it is,” Sejuani says. “If I think about it, it’s _all_ I can think about.” Vi watches her bring a strong, rough hand to her neck and stroke her own throat.

“You know,” Vi says, leaning forward, “Maybe there’s somethin’ I could do to fix that whole ‘haven’t gotten laid in years thing.”

Sejuani is clearly no blushing virgin, whether or not she’s a little out of practice, and she looks Vi solidly in the eye, flushed with alcohol and vivid mental images. “Is that so?” she asks, acting as if she’s not sure she’s interested, but Vi already knows her hook has caught hold.

“You weren’t gonna go home tonight anyways,” Vi purrs. “What’s the harm?” She knows she’s being looked at differently now, being eyeballed and considered like the woman at the bar and the one in the corner. The key difference between them and her being that she’s just offered to take Sejuani to bed, all that hard work of courtship and risk of being turned down stripped away.

Is Vi easy?

Absolutely, when she wants to be.

She extends an arm under the tiny table and, without ever breaking eye contact, strokes her fingertips across Sejuani’s knee.

The woman inhales another shuddering breath.

“Settle the bill. Let’s get upstairs before I change my mind.”

—

Sejuani closes the door behind them and turns the key in the lock.

She turns to face Vi, and there is an uncertain pause. Their eagerness is stalled briefly by an air of hesitation.

Vi grins a slow, smug grin and takes a step towards her. She’s pretty confident she can reassure Sej this is a damn good idea. “Come here,” she suggests, smirking, and as soon as Sejuani concedes and is in range, her hand whips out and grabs hold of the woman’s shirt collar, balling into a fist and pulling her in for a rough kiss. She’s kissing back immediately and with matching desperation, and that encourages Vi to let go completely of caution and give in to pure, simple need.

She pushes Sejuani up against the door, curling fingers through her short hair as she kisses her hungrily, over and over. Electricity rockets up her spine as a coarse palm seizes her lower back and another claws at her waistline.

This isn’t romance. This isn’t gentle. This isn’t slow.

This is exactly what Vi was hoping for – and from the sounds Sejuani is making, exactly what the other woman needs.

A competitive flame roars to life inside of Vi and she decides she’s going to do everything in her power to rock Sejuani’s world tonight.

Their hips are clashing together now, thrusting to crescendo with each new kiss, and Vi releases the hold on Sejuani’s shirt to put a stabilizing hand on the door. Everything is alive inside of her and she’s burning with the electrified tingle of alcohol and sex, and every touch seems amplified a thousandfold. The world is blurrier, faster, jerkier, more urgent.

She presses their bodies together and all but groans at the rush of finding what she expected – a solid, unyielding, muscular brick of a woman, beautiful, powerful, and hers to touch, to explore, to delight in.

Vi kisses her again and then, thinking to take her shirt off, tries to pull away.

Sejuani responds by moving a hand lightning-fast from Vi’s hip to the back of her head, gripping tightly just below her ear and holding her inescapably in place for another hungry, haphazard, urgent rush of kisses. The raw grasping feel of those fingers and the sudden violence of the tone pushes Vi even further over the edge and she groans into the kiss even as she’s reciprocating.

She abandons her plans and brings both hands down to clamp down hard on defined, magnificent hip bones through the fabric of Sejuani’s pants. It’s enough to make the northerner utter an animal sound of her own.

Vi’s hands explore that waistline with a frantic determination; they find a belt, and then a belt buckle, and between the distraction of clashing, eager kisses she slowly works it open.

Sejuani juts her face forward, uses her chin against Vi’s jaw to push it to the side, and positively fucking _growls_ into the enforcer’s ear before taking the sensitive skin of the lobe between her lips.

“Fuck,” Vi gasps, and as teeth and tongue get involved she goes momentarily weak. Barbarian warrior that she is, Sejuani senses and seizes on the opportunity, taking one firm step away from the door, then another, pushing her towards the bed. Neither of them are especially smooth or coordinated right now, but they make up for in in fervor.

Vi’s hands scrabble at the edge of the pants, pushing apart the front flaps and working fingers in, under, trying to push them down. They’re tighter than she expected, and more stubborn, and she struggles to get them past Sejuani’s hips. Finally, when it feels like Vi’s been fighting with them for all of eternity, Sejuani impatiently withdraws the hands that were holding Vi’s face and just pushes the breeches down herself.

The tattooed brawler takes the chance to quickly yank her shirt up and over her head while Sej’s arms aren’t in the way.

The way the warlord looks up at her exposed torso like Vi’s a cut of steak and she hasn’t eaten in a month sends goosebumps screaming up her back and down her arms.

Vi reaches behind her back with one hand and, half shocked by her own skill in spite of all the beer, undoes the bra with one subtle movement. She’s planning on taking it off all sensual-like, but the Freljordian swallows, glides a swift hand up Vi’s side, hooks her middle finger between the cups, and then tugs it down and tosses it aside with a motion that draws Vi’s eyes right to the muscles in her shoulder.

There might have been a thought forming in her mind about getting Sejuani’s shirt off, but it never gets far along in its gestation before those relentless ice-forged fingers capture her by the thighs, a hand below each butt cheek, and she’s being lifted bodily.

Vi is lost again for a moment in how obscenely hot this is, how great it is to feel each fingertip of those powerful hands pressing hard into the meat of her legs, how thrilling it is to wrap her arms around a pair of shoulders for stability and feel the muscle, the tendons, the definition.

Sejuani carries her to the bed and drops her onto the mattress, coming in after her to sit on her hips and hold her by the rib cage and get to those tits she’s clearly longing quite badly to touch. One hand claims Vi’s left breast, her mouth claims the right, and the combined enthusiasm and desperation is all the confirmation Vi needs that the northerner definitely hasn’t touched a woman in many years.

“Oh, shit,” Vi gasps, craning her head back into the pillows, “Yeah, like that,”

She reaches forward blindly and finds pale hair to comb her fingers through and then tug ferociously. Sejuani reacts by biting, and Vi gasps again, louder, less controlled. She bucks her hips up, and Sej grinds her hips down, and still Sejuani won’t be shaken from lavishing her bared torso with not-entirely-altruistic attention.

Vi is all too happy to lie back and rub herself through her pants up against Sejuani’s groin while the woman stimulates her nipples. She puts a hand on the northerner’s waist and realizes it’s been a long time – maybe never – since she slept with someone with such a battle-hardened physique. They’ve all been lays in a long line of svelte and gorgeous and smirking-confident mages or ranged killers, yes, but Sejuani is shoulders-of-steel-confident, capable of raw power, built like a beast. Vi works a hand up under the edge of her shirt, grasping at her side and delighted by the strength there.

She takes the opportunity to explore, pushing up the fabric of the tunic even as Sej’s mouth and fingers have her gasping and sweating and curling her toes and rutting their hips together. A smooth, solid back is hers to glide bold, shameless touches up and down. Vi pushes that shirt up, up, up, and soon Sejuani pulls her face back, relinquishing her target for a moment, to huff a shuddering exhale and sit upright.

Vi allows it, releasing her hold on short snowy hair, setting that hand to stroking knuckles up and down the stomach now available to her. Sejuani’s hips give a sharp twitch at the touch, and she leans back a little to rip her shirt off and throw it violently to the side. It hits a wall with a dull thump and then ends up on the floor somewhere. Vi watches, smug, and then turns her attention back to the gorgeous woman sitting on her. She surges forward to use teeth and fingers to “assist” Sejuani with loosening and removing the cloth bindings around her chest – she was taking too long – and soon those are on the floor too.

Then they’re pressing naked torsos together, kissing again, hands keeping busy, indulging in new landscapes, skin on skin and hands on arms, hips, backs, sides, thighs, all while they breathe hard into each other and stoke the fire of their mutual need with each delve of lips and teeth escalating the intensity.

Pants, fuck, Vi still has pants on.

For fuck’s sake she still has _shoes_ on.

“Hang on,” she grunts, between kisses, and maybe she’s showing off a little when she wraps her arms around Sejuani and physically lifts her up and sets her off to the side of the bed so that she can get up. It takes more effort than she expected, though, and it’s like she’s forgotten how _heavy_ muscles are. Sejuani is shorter than her but she’s dense, tightly packed with power and actually difficult to just pick up and throw around.

Still, Vi is more than capable, and she’s smirking thinking that none of the women in the bar downstairs would have been able to do that quite so handily. She darts in for another kiss because fuck, kisses are nice and the burning intensity of Sejuani’s responses makes her feel so fucking desirable. Then she rolls over off the bed and kicks off her shoes as fast as humanly possible, works open her pants and shoves them to the floor along with her panties, then nearly jumps through the roof when at the conclusion of her concentrated efforts there’s suddenly a hand between her legs, on her knee, up her thigh.

She groans, then turns to face her tormentor. While she was busy Sejuani worked free of the last scraps of her own clothing, and now she’s stunning and brutish and splayed on the bed with absolutely nothing on.

This day has gone a thousand times better than Vi could have hoped for when she met this fighter on the field for the first time.

She gives herself a heartbeat-and-a-half to enjoy the view.

Then Vi is on top of her, driving her down into the mattress she took such pleasure in scoffing at, kissing and biting her neck, travelling lower, kissing, licking, biting at her collar bone. There are hands in Vi’s hair and they’re absolutely not gentle at all and Vi fucking loves it. She works her knees in between Sejuani’s and then uses her legs to spread them. The forcefulness earns her a growl that sounds _entirely_ approving.

Then she’s down with her shoulders between those knees and her face pressed into the curve of Sejuani’s pelvic bone. She’s coming undone now, this vicious boar rider, losing herself to vulnerability, shedding layers of stoicism without any layers of clothing left to hide her. She makes a low, rumbling noise when Vi takes her tongue on a tour, tasting up the insides of her thighs.

Sejuani bucks her hips and Vi slides her hands up the outsides of her legs to hold her in place. She’s smirking as she leans in to bury her mouth in slick skin and thick curls of hair, drunk on the rush of fucking someone new, drunk on beer, drunk on the way Sejuani is already starting to shake.

 _That’s fuckin’ right, I know what I’m doing,_ purr Vi’s thoughts.

Sejuani swears something by some sort of northern god as Vi zeroes in on her clit and draws sloppy, enthusiastic circles around it, closing her eyes and concentrating to the best of her ability. She makes circle after circle, reading Sejuani’s response, experimenting with speed and firmness, ultimately deciding more is better for both.

Vi switches suddenly to using the flat of her tongue, going from circular to direct stimulation, throwing her whole body into it, making the bed creak as each forward thrust of her face comes with another hard stroke against Sejuani’s clit. Another loud curse to some unpronounceable deity escapes the northerner, but she seems to have a harder time getting the words out, what with all those syllables being riddled with gasps.

Taking that as a good sign, Vi doesn’t slow down or change the rhythm. Her whole world becomes the obscene, racing creak of the bed and the strategic slam of her face against the cussing, thrusting woman below her.

Her jaw starts to get sore after a while, but she pushes through it, ignoring the strain in her face in favor of the strained sounds Sejuani is making. Push, push, just a little further; determined, practiced thrusts with her tongue twirl the simple but effective pattern on and on. Her chin is soon slick with a mix of her own saliva and the wetness she’s coaxed from Sejuani with her salacious offers and earnest follow-through.

_Creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak!_

This has to be the loudest fucking bed Vi has ever gotten laid in.

There, there it is! Sejuani tenses, her noises rise and then suddenly can’t seem to break free from her throat, silence and clenched muscles acting as the signal Vi needs. She has to fight back her own eagerness, to resist the temptation to go _faster_ , go _harder_ , but years of experience have taught her that this, of all moments, is not the time to change anything about what she’s doing.

Strangled silence is the unsung symphony accompanying the tighter, tighter, _tighter_ tremble of Sejuani’s limbs. She gawps a sudden noise, undignified and unashamed, and then clamps her thighs together hard against Vi’s skull. Vi refuses to stop until Sejuani turns over on her side, twisting away, and that’s when she’s absolutely sure her work is done.

Vi pulls back and wipes her mouth with a smirk.

Sejuani is breathing hard, her face turned into the pillow and a forearm slung over her face for good measure. Vi scoots up on the bed and positions herself behind her, wrapping an arm around her torso. Even though the haze of the beer, Vi feels a bit responsible for encouraging her to do something so reckless and apparently out of character.

She swallows, collects herself, then murmurs (only a little bit smugly!): “How y’feelin’?”

Sejuani doesn’t say anything at first, just lies there catching her breath. There’s a long enough delay that Vi starts to wonder if maybe she was too quiet, maybe Sej didn’t hear her. But then the woman exhales a shuddering sigh, rolls over to face Vi, tucks her forehead against her collarbone, and murmurs, “Good.”

Without stopping to think about it – because seriously, _thinking?_ Who thinks right after sex – Vi twines her fingers in Sejuani’s hair and rubs her head absently. Her hand finds scars, but then, they’ve been finding scars all night, even if she hasn’t had the time or patience to stop and ponder them. She’s sure Sejuani has discovered a few of her scars as well.

“That was nice,” Sejuani mutters, her voice all gravel and granite.

“Glad to hear it,” Vi answers, her tone changing from victorious to breathy halfway through the phrase when Sejuani unexpectedly settles a hand on her hip with a firm, clearly sexual intent.

The woman brings her head up to be level with Vi’s, above it, mouth to her ear. “Ready for payback?” she growls.

Vi is _so_ fucking ready.

—

That’s the last thing Vi remembers from that night with any sort of clarity. The rest is a sexy, sexy blur that comes back to her in bursts of smells and sights and sensations but never really forms a cohesive narrative.

She wakes up the next day exhausted, hungover, sore, and _immensely_ satisfied.

When she pulls her clothes back on and says farewell, they part with a handshake and a mutual grin instead of a kiss or a fond embrace.

“See you on the Rift,” Vi says.

“See you on the Rift,” answers Sejuani.


End file.
